


je sais je te rends fou

by impulsemomentum



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nothing too explicit, Richard has a dog, but benoit does, his name is milou, richard doesn’t play tennis, richard is v v sad and just needs love and comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulsemomentum/pseuds/impulsemomentum
Summary: Well-meaning dog owner Richard Gasquet moves (read: is moved) to Geneva, where he ends up living next to a crazy guy with a beard and an endless supply of Lacoste clothing. What could possibly go wrong?(AU, where Richard retired from tennis during juniors but Benoit is still Benoit today)





	1. Moving In

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: the lagardères are i’m sure very wonderful people. richard gasquet and benoît paire have their own lives that i am not trying to speculate on.
> 
> my first multi-chapter fic in quite a while! hopefully i’m doing alright, haha
> 
> title is from je sais by shy’m (heheheheh), translates to i know i’m driving you crazy

“Welcome to your new home.” The agent smiles at him blandly, collecting the papers Richard has just signed. “Call me if you have any more questions. I’ve left the card for the movers on your counter.”

“Thank you.” Richard says politely, shakes her hand, and closes the door behind her with a click. He stands at the door for a while, idly scratching Milou’s head as he takes in his current situation.

There’s a note on the counter, next to the card for the movers. It’s written in obnoxious cursive, on ridiculously expensive paper, and Richard can’t help but crinkle his nose in distaste. It’s from Mr. Lagardère, of course. He hopes that Richard enjoys his new home and alludes to a future visit, because of course. 

It’s certainly not that Richard dislikes working for the Lagardères. Jade is very sweet, and it definitely pays well, he muses, looking at the May sun shining through the clear windows. He’s been assigned by Arnaud personally to oversee the ventures in the Geneva airport, and has therefore been moved to Geneva, all expenses paid of course. Everyone politely overlooks the fact that the Geneva shops need no management at the moment, and the two-hour shouting match the Lagardères had, with Richard cowering in a corner of the office, desperately trying to hold the torn remains of his button down together.

Richard shakes himself from his thoughts when Milou barks once, softly, and sits down on the cool wooden floor to scratch behind his ears as Milou pants contentedly. “Welcome to our new home, Mil.” He says, smiling. “Wanna go check out the backyard?”

He stands up, cautiously stepping around carelessly strewn unpacked boxes as Milou follows him obediently, tail wagging in excitement. 

The backyard is definitely an upgrade from the walks to the local park in Béziers, and Richard spots a lone frisbee lying in a corner of the grass, almost just waiting for their use. 

“Ready?” He asks Milou, picking up the disc. Milou barks excitedly, barely restraining himself from jumping on Richard and getting mud all over his t-shirt.

As soon Richard throws the frisbee, he knows he’s made a mistake. The backyard, while certainly impressive, is definitely not as large as the park, and Richard, misjudging the distance, hurls the disc right over the fence. He stares at it, dumbfounded, as it disappears into the neighbouring house, and hears a faint thud as it lands on solid ground. 

“Shit.” He says, as Milou trots up next to him, whining quietly. “Well, guess it’s time to pay a visit to my new neighbour.”

Richard feels distinctly like this might be a bad idea as he knocks on the door, noticeably nicer than his, right next to his new house. Milou sits down with a huff, staring disinterestedly at one of his paws.

Richard hears the door open, looks up, and suddenly feels distinctly wrong-footed. A man opens the door, yawning, and the first thing Richard notices is that he’s very...blond. Very blond, in fact, but with a thick, dark beard, and knotted eyebrows. He pans down, and notices that he’s also shirtless, and a dark trail of hair disappears under his sagging Lacoste sweatpants. Richard swallows quietly.

“...Hello?” The neighbour says, leaning against the doorframe. His voice is deep, and his syllables blend together in a way that makes Richard frown.

“Uh. Hi.” Richard says, eloquent as ever. He tears his gaze away from the man’s bare chest and tilts his head up to meet his eyes. “I’m, uh, I’m your new neighbour? Richard? I’ve, uh, I’ve dropped something in your backyard, I’m terribly sorry...”

The man smiles, showing perfectly white teeth. “No worries. I’m Benoit; nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand for Richard to grasp; his grip is firm, and reassures something within Richard. “You dropped something, you said?”

“I-yes.” Richard clears his throat, gestures to Milou sitting innocently next to him. “A mistake on my part, I’m afraid, threw the frisbee a bit far.”

Benoit’s eyes light up. “You have a dog?” He crouches, holding out a hand for Milou to sniff curiously.

Richard can’t help but grin. “Yes. His name is Milou. He won’t bite, don’t worry.”

Benoit is either ridiculously good with dogs, or just extremely charismatic in general (Richard suspects the latter), because he takes to Milou instantly, chatting to Richard constantly about him as they make their way to Benoit’s backyard.

Richard finds the frisbee laying harmlessly on, yep, a tennis court, and almost flinches. He hasn’t stepped foot on one in almost 15 years, since the back injury that ended his promising career at age 17. “You have a tennis court?” He asks, carefully neutral.

“Hmm? Yeah,” Benoit answers, distracted, as he bounds over the the frisbee. “Do you mind if I play with Milou for a bit? I promise I won’t throw the frisbee over your fence or anything.” He grins at Richard, who flushes a bit, but acquiesces and settles on a bench as Benoit throws the disc with a happy woop, setting Milou off on a chase, complete with happy barks and tail wagging.

Richard watches the scene, satisfied, and lets his mind wander again. He wonders when Arnaud’s next visit will be; considering the severity of the last confrontation, he doubts he will have to entertain Arnaud for quite a while. He hopes that he’s found someone else for the time being, shuddering to think of an Arnaud who’s been deprived of a “plaything” for longer than a few weeks.

The next time he looks up, it’s to Benoit cheerfully calling out his name. He can’t help but notice that the man is, well, still shirtless, and there are faint beads of sweat gathering on his chest, offset by the dying rays of the sun. Benoit grins at him again, patting a tired Milou on the head. “Wanna stay for dinner? I’m not a master chef or anything, but I doubt you’ve had any time to set up all your stuff.”

“I...” Richard hesitates. On the one hand, Benoit’s been nothing but helpful. On the other...Richard’s not exactly had great experiences with presumably rich men inviting him to stay for dinner. “I really should get back and pack. Another time, maybe? Thank you for the invitation.”

To his relief, Benoit only pouts at him jokingly, before giving Milou one final scratch and escorting them both to Richard’s front door. Richard thanks him again, not entirely sure for what, but Benoit waves it off and sets off again. Richard definitely does not stare at the boxer band, visible through his sweatpants as he walks.

That night, Richard orders some shitty takeout and eats it sitting at the counter, alongside some wine he breaks out from one of the boxes. He feeds Milou scraps because the spoilt dog is no longer just satisfied with the dog food sitting in his bowl in the corner, and admonishes him for it but pats him on the head after anyway.

He wrangles the bedroom into order sometime after ten, and stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, over his toiletries carefully arranged on the sink. He can’t help but notice his thinning hairline, his sloping shoulders, and the slight bit of pudge the shirt can’t hand. He grimaces, before shutting the light and climbing into bed alongside Milou’s soft snuffles.

He lays on the bed for a while, listening to the quiet sounds of the night. He takes a deep breath.

Welcome to your new home, Richard.


	2. Boxes and Conversation

The next morning, Richard wakes to bright sunlight streaming through the half-drawn curtains and a sense of obligation in regards to the current state of his new home.

His motivation lasts all the way through a bowl of cereal and about two boxes before reality catches up, and he winces as the strain in his back makes itself abruptly known. He eyes the card for the movers, still innocently on the counter, and grits his teeth and shoves it in the trash can instead.

“He-Richard?” The Benoit that opens the door today is noticeably different from the one from yesterday. He’s still blond, of course, but at least is fully clothed, and Richard can see lingering sweat at his temples. His Lacoste (really, what’s his obsession with the brand, it’s all Richard’s ever seen on him) shirt is soaked with sweat, but that doesn’t seem to faze him at all, if his smile is anything to go by.

“Benoit.” Richard begins, hesitant. “I can see you’re busy, but, when you have the time...I was wondering...I’ve had some trouble unpacking, and I...I would really appreciate your help. Of course I’d understand if not, I…” He trails off when he sees Benoit raise an eyebrow.

“Of course.” Benoit says, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Only if you let me play with Milou again, though.”

Richard cracks a smile, relieved. “That, I can do.”

———

“-a lot of stuff, huh?” Richard lifts his eyes from Benoit’s biceps long enough to catch the tail end of his question.

“I-I’m sorry?” He asks, flushing. Benoit stands up from where he’s just placed yet another box next to Richard for him to unpack, and raises an eyebrow at him, amused.

“You have a lot of stuff, huh?” Benoit repeats the question. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

Richard blinks, caught off guard. “Well...I, yeah, I guess? A lot of stuff from my childhood.”

Benoit oohs, and leans down to pick up an old teddy bear from the box. “Like this?”

“It’s for Milou.” Richard says drily, and Benoit grins at him and tosses it to the dog, who perks up instantly.

Benoit proceeds to ignore moving boxes for a moment as he pulls more stuff out. Most of it’s harmless, old blankets and novels and the like, but then he unearths a small plate, a bit tarnished.

“It says something on it.” Benoit peers at it, squinting at the faded lettering.

Richard grimaces. “Yeah. Les Petit As, 1999. It’s a, uh, tennis tournament. Dunno if you’ve heard of it.”

Benoit frowns at him. “You won Les Petit As in 1999? You play tennis?”

“Yeah.” Richard eyes him a little oddly. “I used to. Had to quit because of a back injury.”

Benoit’s eyes are, well, twinkling, for lack of a better descriptor. Richard feels very suspicious all of a sudden. “I play a little bit of tennis too,” Benoit says, very calculatingly for him (which means he tries his best and Richard sees right through it, but bless him for trying), “Wanna hit sometime?”

Richard can’t stop himself from wincing out loud this time. “Ah, I...Best not to, I think.” He gestures at his back.

Benoit pouts at him again, but the moment is rather ruined when his stomach growls loudly, causing both of them to start.

Richard recovers first, pulling out his phone with a wry smile. “Well, the least I can do to thank you for all your help is order some lunch. Is pizza alright?”

Benoit’s smile suddenly gets very large. Richard gulps.

———

Over what Benoit considers adequate lunch, which is two boxes of pepperoni pizza and lots of soft drinks, Richard finds himself slowly unclenching. He hadn’t realised he was so on edge, but now, listening to Benoit’s running commentary about the quality of the pizza, he feels like a weight’s been lifted off of his shoulders.

“Well, enough about the pizza.” Benoit grins at him. Richard deliberately doesn’t tell him there’s a bit of tomato sauce in his beard. “Tell me about you, Richie. What do you do?”

“Richie?” Richard peers at him. Benoit just shrugs, unrepentant. Richard settles down with a hmph. “Well. I work for the Lagardères, the french corporation. I’ve been assigned to Geneva to oversee the airport ventures. Mr. Lagardère was, ah, kind enough to arrange the living situation.”

Benoit nods along entirely unconvincingly. “I’ve heard of them, yeah. They do, like, sports stuff, right?”

“A part of it, yes.” Richard takes a sip of his sprite. “The Lagardères own a variety of businesses. I help manage the commercial side of it.”

Benoit doesn’t reply in favour of shoving more pizza into his mouth. Richard rolls his eyes, but figures he should probably participate in the conversation anyway. “And you, Benoit? What do you do?”

Benoit chews, considering. “I..Ah, well, I…” His stalling is sudden interrupted when Stromae begins blasting from his lap.

Both of them wince, and Benoit quickly reveals the source of the music by plucking his phone out of his pocket.

“Âllo?” He says, and Richard watches his face abruptly whiten as the other person on the phone reaches a volume loud enough for Richard to hear. “Oh-oh SHIT, fuck JC I’m so sorry I’m on my way now-sorry-yeah ok bye!”

Richard just sits back and watches, faintly amused, as Benoit stands up and almost knocks over his can of coke, stains his jacket with pizza in his hurry to sling it over his shoulder, and then curses loud enough for Milou to lift his head from where he’d been napping.

“Well, thanks for the pizza, Richie, I’m really sorry but I completely forgot about this thing, gotta go, see ya later!” Benoit leans over the counter, pulling Richard in for a hug (Richard only freezes a little, which he considers a personal improvement), before rushing out of the front door, hurriedly pulling something up on his phone.

He really needs to stop staring at Benoit’s ass, Richard muses, staring at the spot where Benoit had occupied just moments before.

“I’m fucked.” He says out loud, pulling Benoit’s half-eaten slice towards him. Milou grunts beside him in agreement, and Richard glares at him.

He feeds him Benoit’s pizza anyway.

———

Benoit shows up back at the door a couple of hours later, freshly showered (and another Lacoste shirt, this is really getting ridiculous) and looking apologetic. He shrugs off Richard’s mild inquisitive glance, setting himself to move boxes with a renewed effort.

“Was JC too angry?” Richard says neutrally.

Benoit snorts. “Angry is an understatement, I think. Made me run extra-er. Extra errands.” He finishes lamely.

Richard’s pretty sure his eyebrow can’t go any higher. “Well,” He says. “If you’re hungry again I’ve just heated up the leftover pizza.”

Richard leaves Benoit fervently praising his good graces, and surprises himself by actually chuckling.

Sleep that night certainly comes a lot easier.

  
  



	3. Surprise Surprise

The next month or so is...fine. Richard finally gets unpacked, and ostensibly visits the airport stores just so he can pick up Arnaud, who actually managed to last an entire two weeks before flying to Geneva. 

He only stays for two days, but that’s plenty enough time to redo all the damage Richard had begun healing from. Afterwards, he buys a new set of sheets and tries not to throw up in the toilet, the phantom pressure of Arnaud’s dick at the back of his throat making him nauseous. Milou sits anxiously next to him in the bathroom, and Richard pets him gently, burying his face in his soft fur and letting tears soak into it.

Benoit also seems to have...disappeared? Richard knocks on his door a couple weeks after the whole thing with a bottle of wine, intending to thank him again for helping, but no one seems to be at home.

He still keeps a vague idea of the tennis calendar, even 15 years later, so he’s not too surprised when Gael calls the week before Wimbledon, demanding he open his house for a party, because “just because Lagardère is an asshole doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy this nice ass house” - his words, not Richard’s. 

Anyway. Richard can’t say Gael’s wrong, so he calls a couple old friends and invites them all down since they’re all relaxing for the week anyway. 

As always, Nico arrives first as always, before Richard’s even finished setting the table, and greets him with warm kisses on both cheeks and a new toy for Milou. “Nice house.” He says, smiling. “Need help with anything?”

Richard really appreciates Nico, because he sees so much, but he also has enough tact not to comment on it. Though, he’s definitely not averse to taking action, because he definitely split with Lagardère Management for a reason. Richard’s mouth still unwillingly quirks up whenever he remembers Nico gripping Arnaud’s arm tight, smiling for the cameras but saying things that made Arnaud go alarmingly pale.

Gael and Jo arrive together next, because they live close enough together anyway, and Richard knows for a fact that Gael would have probably showed up in the middle of the night had Jo not intervened. Gael makes a big show of touring the entire house and hooking up his phone to the bluetooth speakers instantly. Richard starts when Alors on Danse blasts through the house; Jo looks at him a little weird, but he just shakes his head at him subtly. It’s not only Benoit who listens to Stromae, he chides himself, he needs to stop behaving like a teen with a crush, grasping for connections. 

Julien shows up as the group starts to sit down at the table, and Gilles wanders in sometime in the middle of the meal, which no one’s particularly surprised by. 

As Richard idly twirls his fork through his pasta and listens to his friends bicker good-naturedly around him, he feels a rare sense of security. They’re all reluctant to talk tennis around him still, having grown up with him through the tough years while he was figuring out what to do with his life with half a back and a head filled with no longer useful knowledge about continental grips and dropshot techniques, but they’re still his best friends, and they never run out of topics of discussion. 

After dinner, the group migrates to the sitting room, and someone (probably Nico) puts a replay of the PSG game on the TV. They’re all enjoying a bit of wine courtesy of Arnaud’s latest visit when the doorbell suddenly rings. Nico raises an eyebrow at Richard. “I didn’t know you’d made friends here.”

Richard frowns. “Well, I think I did with my neighbour? But he seems to have gone AWOL.”

“I’ll go see who it is.” Gael jumps up, excited as usual. “Got a hot date you didn’t tell us about, Reesh?”

Richard rolls his eyes at his back, but stands up and follows him to the door anyway, the other Frenchmen trailing behind him. 

Gael opens the door a crack, clearly some happy crack halfway out of his mouth, but stops suddenly, frozen at the sight of whoever it is in front of the door. 

“Benoit?” He exclaims, recovering and pulling the door open completely. 

Well. Of all the things Richard’s expecting, this definitely wasn’t very high on the list. Benoit, as in his missing neighbour Benoit, is standing in front of his door, looking a little confused, and...his hair is purple now. Just to make it all a little more surreal, combined with the fact that Gael somehow knows him.

“Gael?” Benoit frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“We could certainly ask you the same question, I think.” Nico says from behind Richard, sounding like he was trying very hard not to laugh. 

“I-wait, you know these people?” Richard finally breaks out of his stupor, as Gael steps aside to allow Benoit in. 

“Wait, how do  _ you  _ know these people?” Benoit asks, a little bit dumbfounded.

“They’re my friends?” Richard says, feeling somewhat like he’s just stepped into an alternate universe. 

“That’s your neighbour?” Nico says, and he’s definitely laughing now. “Richard, say hi to Benoit Paire, 50th ranked singles player on the ATP tour.”

A lot of things certainly make sense now, Richard thinks blearily, mind flashing back to the endless Lacoste logos and the tennis court in the backyard. 

Across from him, Benoit looks similarly flabbergasted. “When you said you played tennis, Richie, I thought you meant you just played, not that you  _ played _ .”

Jo snorts. “What, you mean you didn’t recognise his face from that magazine he was on when he was five? C’mon Benoit, you’ve been living next to a legend for the last couple of months and didn’t think to tell us?”

“...Why don’t you come in, Benoit.” Julien cuts in, a little exasperated, and hands him a glass of wine as Gael closes the door behind him. Richard faintly wonders how this has suddenly ceased to be his home. 

They all end up cramped on the couch in front of the TV somehow, Richard smushed right against Benoit, who smells like shampoo and cinnamon, watching yet another football replay. Nico, the sensible one, sits on the carpeted floor with an arm around Julien, gesturing at the screen furiously despite the fact that Richard’s pretty sure this particular game was played sometime last year. 

“Is he like this on tour, too?” He turns to Benoit, whispering amusedly.

Benoit grins, raising his glass. “You bet.”

Richard smiles back, and turns his attention back to the TV, feeling Benoit’s body pressed against his acutely. 

As the night progresses, most of Richard’s friends filter out slowly, bidding him goodbye with friendly hugs, or, in Gael’s case, picking him up in a bear hug. Julien’s the last one to leave, sending Richard a meaningful glance before nodding at Benoit. 

“Can I help you clean up?” Left with just the two of them, Benoit’s voice seems much louder in the sudden silence. “It’s the least I could do after barging into your house party.”

Richard nods, not really feeling like speaking with the amount of thoughts floating around his head.

Over placing dishes into the sink, Richard asks, quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Benoit pauses for a moment. “I…” He begins, hesitant. “I just...wanted you to think I was normal, I suppose.”

Richard turns his head to look at him properly, with the bright purple hair and the thick beard, and can’t help but crack a smile. “Benoit, I hate to break this to you, but I don’t think anyone thinks you’re normal, tennis player or not.”

Benoit sticks his tongue out at him, because he’s certainly very mature, and flicks some water right at Richard’s nose. 

And, well, when has Richard stepped down from such a challenge? He splashes some right at Benoit’s beard, and steps back quickly, laughing as Benoit advances threateningly with a half-washed fork. 

Richard ends up with his back against the fridge, and is suddenly very aware of how close they are. He’s close enough to see the dark irises of Benoit’s eyes, see the 

pink of his lips. He really can’t stop staring at his lips. 

Benoit’s gaze strays too, and Richard’s positive that he’s going to kiss him all the way up until he...doesn’t. Benoit pulls back, gently. “I...I should go.” He steps back hesitantly, almost forcibly increasing the distance between them. “Thanks for letting me stay tonight, Richie.”

Richard walks him to the door, and Benoit smiles at him when he says goodbye. Everything is like nothing had happened in the kitchen, except when Richard shuts the door and leans his head against the cool wood, he can still feel Benoit’s beard ghosting across his jaw. His dick twitches faintly with interest, for the first time in a while. 

He takes his time in the shower that night, biting his lip and thinking of what could have happened. He imagines Benoit’s hands, calluses and all, wrapped around his cock instead of his own, and comes to an image of himself, naked, writhing beneath Benoit. 


	4. Player’s Box

July blends into August, and August into September, and before Richard knows it he’s raking leaves off of his driveway every morning and Milou’s whining from the October cold. The months were certainly uneventful, at least in terms of Richard’s life. He googles Benoit and finds out all about his on-court tendencies, and is very unfairly satisfied when he types in “benoit paire girlfriend” on a whim and finds out about the whole deal with Shy’m. Benoit’s still never around, but Richard’s taken to having a page open of whatever tournament he’s in each week, and sending him congratulations or commiseration texts despite the fact he still can’t bring himself to watch tennis just yet. Arnaud comes by a few more times, each time leaving Richard a bit more fragile than the last.

It’s not until the end of October that Richard’s daily routine is very rudely interrupted. Benoit calls him in the midst of him preparing his lunch, so he puts the man on speaker and continues tossing the salad. He almost drops the tongs in the bowl when Benoit’s voice carried across the phone. 

“Hey, I’ve got a space in the player’s box,” He says. “For Paris. Wanna come?”

Richard has not watched a single bit of tennis in the last fifteen years. Not when Jo won his Olympic medal, not when Gilles beat Federer, and not even when Nico won Wimbledon. He has refused any invitation to attend tournaments point blank for the last fifteen years. He opens his mouth, prepared to do the same, but instead what comes out of his mouth is a simple “Okay.”

He can almost hear Benoit’s delighted smile, and quietly resigns himself to being the subject of his friends’ ribbing for the next year or so. 

———

Benoit books a hotel room for him in Bercy, right next to his own, and Richard accepts even though he feels bad for it. When he brings it up, Benoit just grins at him and hands him the key card.

Richard realises that there isn’t really a lot left for him to do, now that he’s back in France. He spends most of his time in his room, or at the practice venues with Benoit, trying his best to avoid Arnaud who’s lurking around managing his players. Arnaud doesn’t know he’s here; if he did, Richard had no doubt this would be a much less enjoyable stay. 

As predicted, Gael and everyone else has a great time laughing at him about the whole “coming to see Benoit” thing. Jo sits down across from him in the players’ restaurant one day, smirking at him over his yoghurt parfait. “You know he’s, like, the complete opposite from you, right?” He says nonchalantly. 

Richard glares at him. “I’m aware.” He says, leaving out that whole part about the extensive Google search. 

Jo throws his hands up in mock defeat. “Well, as long as you’re happy.” He sobers up again. “You are, right? He’s treating you well?”

Richard frowns at him, feeling a blush worm his way up to his cheeks. “We’re not dating. Like I could date, with my current situation.”

Jo winces, leans back a little. “Shit, I forgot. Well, like I said, as long as you’re happy.”

Richard stirs his yoghurt quietly for a moment. He comes to a decision. “I am.” He says, and smiles. 

Jo smiles back, and reaches across the table to clasp him on the shoulder warmly. “I suppose I’ll see you in his box then. Even though you’ve said no to me every time I’ve asked.” He retreats tactfully, seeing Richard’s glare return in full force. 

Just as Richard settles down and begins to enjoy his snack again, Benoit wanders in and takes a seat right next to him, despite the fact that it’s an empty table meant for multiple people. “What did Jo want?” He grins, halfway around a mouth full of chicken.

“I’ve said no every time they’ve asked for me to come.” Richard says, and Benoit stills next to him. His face spreads into a slow grin. 

“Well,” Benoit drawls, “I feel honoured then, Richie. I’ll be sure to double bagel Fucsovics just for you.”

Richard just rolls his eyes at him, brandishing his spoon threateningly. “I’ve played enough tennis to know that’s a terrible thing to say.”

“Say, while we’re talking about tennis,” Benoit smirks suddenly. “Wanna hit with me? I’ve a practice court booked for the next hour anyway.”

Richard hasn’t touched tennis for the last fifteen years. He says yes anyways. 

———

Richard finally gets to meet JC in person, who is actually really nice and just as fed up with Benoit as he sounded over the phone. JC greets Richard with a warm hug and Benoit with a lukewarm glare, pointing towards the abandoned jump rope lying on the court. 

Benoit hands him a racquet, and it feels so unbelievably foreign, yet so familiar at the same time. He shifts his grip, pulls his arm back, and goes through the motions, still ingrained in his mind after so many years. Benoit looks at him, delighted. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

It takes a while for Richard to warm up. His first few balls go short, and the impact jolts his arm uncomfortably. And then, Benoit feeds him a backhand, and everything suddenly shifts back into place. Benoit gawks at the shot, effortlessly sailing past him and landing right in the corner of the court. “You didn’t tell me about  _ that _ !” He turns, demands. 

Richard grins at him, feeling a little unsettled but also pumped full of adrenaline, mind whirling with old memories. Benoit looks like he’s in love with either him or his backhand, Richard’s not sure, and the expression makes his throat dry abruptly. He spends the rest of Benoit’s practice sitting on the bench, kind of quietly having an epiphany. 

Well. Richard will certainly not deny that he finds Benoit ridiculously attractive, and he’s not blind - Benoit’s not very coy about what he wants. But, the problem remains that he’s only in Geneva on Arnaud’s good graces; if he dates Benoit, there’s no way Benoit’s going to let the farce continue, and then Richard’s going to lose his job and all credibility for future careers, and he shudders at the thought. 

He’ll just have to blithely ignore all of Benoit’s advances, he supposes. Though, that idea leaves an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. 

———

Richard feels a little bit claustrophobic; actually, maybe a lot claustrophobic. The player’s box is, in fact, plenty comfortable and has a lot of empty space, but that doesn’t stop Richard from feeling distinctly out of place as he sits, aware of the crowds around him and the court in front. Benoit’s doing well, started with an early break and is breezing through his service holds. Richard feels happy for him, but it’s kind of drowned out with his whole trying not to hyperventilate thing. 

Later, in the players’ lounge, Richard smiles at him, but it’s shaky at best. Benoit actually notices for once, and pulls him in for a hug. Richie smells shampoo and cinnamon again, and feels instantly calmer. 

———

Everyone seems to think it’s great; Richard just kind of wants to go home. He kind of knew that Gilles would beat Benoit pretty easy based on the way he’s playing, but still can’t help wincing at every missed dropshot and shanked forehand. 

After the match, Gilles comes up for the customary handshake and pats Benoit on the ass instead, winking at Richard. Had Richard not just enjoyed a very nice dinner with Gille, his wife, and their son last night, he’s pretty sure he might’ve climbed onto court and strangled him with his bare hands. 

Benoit’s a little more subdued than usual in the lounge, damp purple hair sticking up all over the place and his Lacoste sweatshirt crumpled. “Who were you rooting for?” He asks Richard, smiling wryly. 

“...You.” Richard says, quietly. He looks into Benoit’s eyes, and has to remind himself very firmly of his current predicament in order to not stand on his tiptoes and kiss Benoit right then and there. 

Benoit certainly has no such qualms. He grips Richard’s jaw and pulls him in for a kiss, in front of everyone else milling about in the lounge. Richard gasps into his mouth, intent on pulling away and making some excuse, but then Benoit’s other arm wraps around his waist, and he kind of loses his thought process for a bit. 

They break apart to half the lounge clapping politely and the Frenchies making eyes at them. Richard can’t stop the smile from spreading over his face, but also feels a ball of dread settle at the bottom of his stomach. 

———

It’s a four-hour train ride back to Geneva. Benoit falls asleep halfway through, head on Richard’s shoulder. Richard reads his book and tries not to die. 

As soon as he gets home, gets Milou back from the dog care centre, and shuts the door behind Benoit after a farewell kiss, he stands for a second, wondering what the fuck his life has come to. He moans about it into Milou’s fur for a solid hour or two, and then collapses into bed and definitely does not replay the lounge kiss over and over in his head. 

The next day, he dyes his hair blond. Benoit comes over, looks delighted, and kisses him senseless. His hand starts trailing lower on Richard’s back, and Richard withdraws, murmuring some excuse or other. Benoit only nods, and they spend the rest of the day on the couch, cuddling and talking about inane things. 

That night, Richard only hyperventilates a little. 


	5. Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: implied/referenced non-con, nothing explicit

Benoit spends a lot of time with Richard. Most of it is in Richard’s house, curled up on the couch with Milou demanding affection, but Benoit gives him a tour around his own one time, and they end up kissing against the doorframe to his bedroom. 

Benoit feels Richard freeze up before he even realises it himself, and pulls away, looking into his eyes intently. “Still no?”

Richard shakes his head, mute. 

“Okay.” Benoit says, and that was the last they’d talked about it. Since then, they’ve gone no further than cautious touches, never below the waist. Richard’s still conscious of his body, knows that it is no way comparable to Benoit’s, but Benoit seems obsessed with the way his shoulders slope, the slight pudge of his stomach.

So things go fine. Richard spends time with Benoit most days, begs off a few days whenever Arnaud comes by for a visit, and tries to hide how he gets shakier after. Benoit frowns at him, but never asks. Things go fine. At least, until Davis Cup weekend.

Benoit wasn't selected, not that it would’ve made a difference anyway; they’re playing Croatia, on clay. Richard deposits Milou back at the dog care centre and rides the train to Lille, Benoit keeping up a helpful commentary of his predictions for the final beside him. 

The match itself goes fine. Richard wasn’t expecting them to win anyway, but it still hurts to be in the locker room after the first day, seeing the dejected expressions on everyone’s faces. The second day goes better, and Richard is introduced to Nico’s partner, Pierre-Hugues, who goes around looking at Nico like he’s hung the moon. 

Richard spends the entirety of the fourth rubber hidden under Benoit’s arm, slung across his shoulder. He’s too stressed out to watch, but he gets a play-by-play anyway through Benoit’s quiet winces. Too soon, it’s all over, and Richard claps politely from the sidelines as all his friends go up and receive their medals, looking like they’d rather be absolutely anywhere but on the court.

They don’t get back to Geneva until around noon on Monday, and Benoit deposits him at his front door, saying goodbye with a chaste kiss. Richard is rather glad that he no longer has to disguise all his staring at Benoit’s ass, if nothing else. He’s so distracted by it, in fact, that he completely misses the sleek black car parked out front. He pays for that dearly when he opens the door. 

“Richard.” The burning anger disguised beneath the familiar voice makes him freeze instantly. “Where were you?”

“Arnaud.” Richard says, swallows. “I...I didn’t know you were visiting today.”

“I didn’t tell you.” Arnaud stalks up to him, gripping his jaw tightly and forcing him to look him in the eye. “Because I expect you to be available at all times. As part of our agreement.”

“Of course, Arnaud.” Richard says quietly, trying to hide how his voice trembles.

Arnaud stares at him impassively for a moment, before he raises an arm, and strikes Richard cleanly across the face. Richard takes it without a sound, just holds a hand to his face gingerly. He’s barely given any warning before Arnaud pulls him back in roughly by the collar of his shirt, forcing his lips on his. It’s so different from Benoit’s loving kisses that Richard can’t help but gag, and Arnaud notices instantly. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He demands, and Richard presses back against the door, terrified. 

“I don’t pay for this fucking house out of the goodness of my heart, Richard.” He hisses. “You know what I expect and this isn’t it. You know what’ll happen if this happens again.”

“I...I understand, Arnaud.” Richard’s voice is barely above a whisper. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Arnaud says, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Now, what I came here for.”

———

When Benoit knocks on the door, a few hours later, Richard is still a crumpled mess on the floor, shirt torn and his boxers barely hanging on, his pants discarded somewhere on the floor. He’s got drying traces of cum around his lips, and he knows even without seeing that his cheekbone is bruised to all hell. 

“Richard?” Benoit calls, muffled through the door. “You didn’t answer my texts. I got Milou for you?”

Richard jolts at the mention of the dog. He’d forgotten to pick him up from the centre, in the midst of all that had happened. He prepares to stand, to open his mouth and tell Benoit to come back later, when he realises that he’s given Benoit a key a few weeks ago, and freezes when the door opens slowly. 

“Rich-” Benoit trails off when he almost trips over who he’s looking for on the floor. Milou’s leash escapes from his grip, and he rushes over the Richard, tail wagging furiously in worry. Richard cracks a small self-deprecating smile, one hand coming up to pet Milou almost unconsciously. 

“What.” Benoit says. Richard can’t see his eyes. “What the fuck, Richard.”

“I didn’t want to tell you.” Richard says, and winces at the strain it places on his ravaged throat. “I...I’m sorry. I should’ve never let you kiss me.”

“I-what?” Benoit sounds so painfully confused. “I...I don’t understand.” He lowers himself until he’s sitting in front of Richard on the floor, but Richard still can’t see his eyes.

“I have an...agreement, with Mr. Lagardère,” Richard begins, cautiously. “In order for me to keep my job and a semblance of a reputation in the business world, I need to...please him. It’s why he moved me here in the first place. So I’m out of the way and ready whenever for him. If I refuse...I doubt I will ever be able to find a job again.”

Benoit’s quiet for a while, and then he raises his head. Richard recoils instinctively at the fire burning behind his eyes. “I.” He begins, his voice deathly even. “Will fucking murder him.”

Richard laughs, a little helplessly. “Benoit, nothing works. Trust me, everyone’s tried. Nico’s the one who’s gotten the furthest, but there’s no way to press charges with his extensive system of lawyers. Anyhow, it won’t be long before he tires of me and moves on to someone else, and then I’ll be safe to just be an employee again.”

“I…” Benoit exhales. “Jesus fuck, Richie.”

“It’s not your problem, Benoit.” Richard says quietly. “Though I understand if you...no longer want this. Anymore.”

Benoit looks up sharply, and shakes his head. “Never, Richie. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. This is my problem now.  _ I love you _ .”

Richard’s mouth opens slightly. “I…” He feels tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. “I love you too, Benoit.”

“May I hug you?” Benoit says softly, and gently embraces Richard when he gives a soft nod. “We’re gonna be okay, Richie.” He murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his tousled hair. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Richard doesn’t feel much like speaking anymore, so he simply nods again, and lets Benoit carry him like he’s nothing but a teddy bear up to the bathroom. 

Benoit gently wipes the traces from his mouth, pokes gently at the bruise and determines nothing’s broken. He asks Richard if he can take off his shirt, and Richard acquiesces. He can’t quite contain his gasp when it comes off; Richard’s shoulders are littered with bruises from fingers dug deep into the skin, and Benoit has to grit his teeth to stop him from getting up right now and finding Arnaud Lagardère. He leaves Richard for a few moments to grab some changes of clothing from his closet, and by the time he returns, Richard’s leaning against the sink cabinet, barely keeping his eyes open. He stays conscious long enough to change his clothes, but his eyes close the instant Benoit deposits him in the bed, smoothing the sheets over him. 

As Richard sleeps quietly behind him, Benoit steps out of the bedroom, and lets fury slide over his features. 


	6. Aftercare

The next time Richard regains awareness of his surroundings, sunshine is streaming brightly in stripes on his bed, and Milou is softly snuffling by his feet. He sits up against the bedrest, wincing as his bruises flare back into memory. He could almost dismiss the events of the previous night as a bad dream, except when he turns his head, there’s a plate of croissants and fruit sitting on the nightstand, next to a sticky note.

The note is scrawled in Benoit’s messy handwriting. “Gonna go take care of something. If I’m still not back when you wake here’s some breakfast. bisous x.” Richard reads, and can’t help but crack a small smile. 

He doesn’t feel like he has much of an appetite at all, but he manages to nibble on a croissant and have a few grapes by the time he hears the door open downstairs. 

“Richie.” Benoit lingers by the doorframe when he comes up, uncharacteristically hesitant. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” Richie says quietly. “What did you do?”

Benoit winces. “Don’t worry about it, okay, babe?”

Richard’s gaze trails down to where Benoit’s hand rests awkwardly, the knuckles bloody and scraped. “Okay.” He says, because he realises with a jolt that it is. That things might actually be okay.

“He won’t bother you anymore.” Benoit says, kneeling by Richard’s bed. “The lease will be up by the end of the year, and I was wondering...after. Would you...move in with me?”

Richard’s speechless. “I...Benoit...I can’t...That’s...I wouldn’t want to burden you.”

Benoit looks at him, steel in his gaze. “You’re not a burden, Richard. Never. I love you, and I would like you to move in with me.”

“I...” Richard smiles. “Okay. But just so you know, Milou eats a lot.”

A smile breaks through Benoit’s cloudy expression, and he jumps on the bed, slinging an arm around Richard. “I can deal with that,” He grins, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Anything for you.”

\------

So Arnaud never visits again, and Jade calls Richard one day in the midst of December, letting him know quietly that he’s been written a recommendation letter for whatever profession he decides to pursue next. Benoit sits next to him, smirking like the cat that ate the canary.

Richard doesn’t officially move into Benoit’s house until around Christmas, though he moved things little by little the entire month. On Christmas Eve, they sit on Benoit’s couch in front of the roaring fireplace, a glass of wine each, and Milou dozing at their feet.

“Have you decided what you’ll do next?” Benoit murmurs, placing an arm around Richard’s shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Richard muses, leaning into his body heat. “Something in management still, I suppose.”

“Say...” Benoit shifts, entirely unsubtly. “I need a manager. You know, on the tour.”

Richard huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “You are a menace,” He says, jabbing a finger into his side. “A walking PR disaster. Why anyone would be your manager is beyond me.”

“Hey!” Benoit says, pretending to be offended. “Just because I like dying my hair pretty colours and fucking men doesn’t mean I’m a walking PR disaster.”

Richard rolls his eyes. “ _ Yes _ , Benoit, it definitely does.” He pauses for a bit, smiling. “You know I’d have just come along anyway, right? You don’t need to pay me to support you.”

“Welllll,” Benoit draws the word out, ghosting his lips across Richard’s cheek. “I need a manager, anyway. To manage all my needs and wants, of course.” He whispers into Richard’s ear, making him shiver.

“...Yes. Yes, okay.” Richard says, and they both realise that he’s saying yes to something else too, while they’re at it.

“You’re sure?” Benoit shifts on the couch. He sounds deadly serious for once. “You know that I don’t care, right? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

It’s true that they’ve talked about what happened to Richard quite a few times. Benoit tried to get him to a psychiatrist, but Richard refused every time, preferring instead Milou’s fur and Benoit’s quiet company. Richard knows, logically, that Benoit doesn’t want to use him the way Arnaud did, but every time they’ve tried to go further than roaming hands on each other’s chests, Richard had frozen up and Benoit had immediately withdrawn and held Richard close to him instead, comforting him.

Now though, that it’s been long enough since it happened, Richard looks within himself to find that he  _ wants _ . He looks at Benoit, swallowing. “I want you.” He says, and sees Benoit’s eyes darken, his pupils dilate. Benoit pulls him in for a kiss, starting chaste, but Richard opens his mouth willingly, and soon it’s filthy sounds and Benoit’s tongue on his.

“Come up with me?” When they break apart, Benoit murmurs, extending a hand. Richard nods and takes it, a bit lost for words.

Benoit is incredibly gentle. Richard can see how painfully hard he is by the tent of his sweatpants, but Benoit takes his time, taking Richard’s shirt off and exploring the open canvas, mouthing at a small scar where Richard had hurt himself as a child. Richard lets out a choked gasp when Benoit mouths at a nipple, and one of his hands curl in Benoit’s hair unconsciously. Benoit moans, and the vibrations run through Richard. He feels his dick twitch, actually interested.

“Tell me if it gets too much, okay?” Benoit says a little breathlessly, trailing butterfly kisses down to where a trail of dark curls disappear under Richard’s waistband. He takes a break to throw his own shirt haphazardly across the room before diving back in, tongue lapping at his belly button as his hands drifted lower. 

Richard just nods, and lifts his hips so Benoit can slide his sweatpants down. His boxers certainly leave nothing to the imagination, and he props himself up on his elbows, seeing Benoit nestled between his thighs, staring at his straining erection. 

Benoit looks up at him in wonder. “You’re perfect.” He says, and steals Richard’s breath for a moment with just how  _ in love _ he looks, before dipping his head down and mouthing at the cotton bulge, making Richard hiss at the warmth that seeps through. 

“Hurry it up already,” Richard groans, lifting his hips. “I’ve waited long enough.”

“ _ You’ve  _ waited long enough?” Benoit pops back up, jokingly indignant, but acquiesces and takes off Richard’s boxers, freeing his aching cock. Benoit takes a hand and gives it a gentle tug, and Richard groans again, falling back onto the bed as his elbows give out. 

Benoit, Richard has to give him credit, is  _ excellent _ at blowjobs. He starts by circling his tongue around his slit torturously slowly, sucking at the purple head while Richard twitched beneath him, moaning hopelessly. 

“Please,  _ fuck _ , Benoit, just- _ fuck _ .” He gasps, cut off in the middle of his begging when Benoit tilts his head back and then suddenly deepthroats his cock, taking three-quarters of his length in one go. Richard’s eyes slide shut as he feels the back of Benoit’s throat tightening around him, and Benoit’s tongue flicking expertly along the bottom. 

He barely has time to choke out a warning to Benoit before he’s coming in thick spurts, watching Benoit’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I love you,” He says when Benoit lifts his head and smirks at him, traces of come in his beard. “I love you so fucking much, do you know?”

“Of course, Richie,” Benoit climbs up beside him, pressing his face into the crook of Richard’s neck. “I love you too.”

“Do you want…?” Richard hesitates, feeling Benoit’s length poke into his thigh. 

Benoit shakes his head, beard scratching Richard’s skin. “As much as I like to claim otherwise, Richie, I actually do pretty okay without sex most times.” He teases. “I don’t need to get off every time, actually. It’s just a thing.”

Richard raises an eyebrow. “Okay,” He says, “But if we’re sleeping right now we both better be clean. And you should brush your teeth.”

He can feel Benoit’s eye roll, even if he can’t see it. “Okay,  _ mom _ . May I interest you in a shower?”

“Not if you call me mom.” Richard grins. “And also not if you’re looking for round two, because my refractory period disagrees.”

“Fine, fine, shower only,” Benoit pouts, getting up. “Let’s go, mon amour.” He holds out a hand, and Richard takes it, smiling so hard he feels the lines around his eyes crinkle. 

That night, Richard falls asleep in Benoit’s arms, and dreams of tennis courts and flashes of colour.


	7. Happy Ever After

“You’re happy?” Nico asks him quietly, over the rim of his wine glass. 

“Yeah,” Richard says, smiling. “I am.”

Nico peers at him for a moment, then, seemingly satisfied, claps him on the shoulder and wanders off after saluting him with his glass. 

Richard looks around. Benoit’s happily entertaining Gael with Milou’s tricks, and their other friends are contentedly milling around, the television quietly playing in the background. He and Benoit had finally invited all their friends to Benoit’s house, after much whining from Gael, and they’d all gotten together after the US open, everyone having some downtime. He takes the brief moment of silence, leaning against the kitchen counter, to get lost in his thoughts. 

While it had certainly been easy to agree to Benoit in the heat of the moment, it was harder for Richard to actually begin attending all his tournaments. He skipped the Australian Open series, instead opting to watch at home, anxiously gnawing at his nails. Benoit loses in the second round of the grand slam, but they facetime during the doubles final, and both go crazy when Nico and Pierre-Hugues win in straight sets. 

The first tournament Richard attends as Benoit’s professional WAG (Gael’s words, not his - Richard much prefers the title of “tour manager”) is Montpellier. Benoit makes it all the way to the semis, blowing a kiss in Richard’s direction after every match he wins. He falls to Jo in the semifinal, who hugs Benoit tightly at the net and shoots a crooked grin at Richard in the box. 

Afterwards, in the player’s lounge, Richard leans against Benoit, who’s absentmindedly drawing patterns on his shoulder as he plays Candy Crush. “Do you mind if I go watch Jo tomorrow?” He asks, and Benoit hums noncommittally. 

“Want me to come with?” He offers, turning to Richard. “I know these things can still be a lot for you.”

Richard grins, relieved. “I think I’ll be alright. Thank you.”

Benoit presses a soft kiss to his temple, before returning to Candy Crush without a second thought. 

Jo wins in straight sets, and mentions Richard in his speech, much to his consternation. Nico texts him later, in the hotel, with a screenshot of all the people on Twitter wondering who he is, complete with a bunch of stupid emojis. Richard rolls his eyes at his phone and shows Benoit, who huffs, amused. “You’re gonna be more famous than me soon.” He teases, slinging an arm over his shoulder. 

“I certainly hope not,” Richard scoffs. “I do intend on attending all of your tournaments, so the less attention I draw, the better.”

“Oh, you do, don’t you?” Benoit smirks. “You mean you don’t want me to make out with you after I win a grand slam?”

“Benoit!” Richard exclaims, turning to him with a frown. “You know the current tennis climate, there’s no ch-”

“Ugh, yes, okay,” Benoit rolls his eyes. “Can we make out now though?”

“You’re insatiable.” Richard huffs, but obliges. 

“What are you thinking about?” A deep voice sounds behind him, and Richard starts, jolted out of his thoughts. He turns to see Benoit smirking at him, having apparently abandoned Milou with Gael. 

“Montpellier.” Richard says, taking Benoit’s hand from where he’s placed it on the counter. “In the hotel room after the trophy ceremony.”

Benoit’s eyes darken slightly. “You can’t say things like that in front of our friends, Richie,” He murmurs, stepping closer. “Might end up doing some things they shouldn’t see.”

“Like what?” Richard smirks, emboldened by the wine and the familiar atmosphere.

“You’ve certainly gotten a lot bolder.” Benoit grins, before he leans down and presses his lips against Richard chastely. Richard stands on his tiptoes and chases Benoit’s mouth, wrapping his free arm around Benoit’s waist. They part when all their friends burst into applause, and Richard feels his cheeks warm at Gael’s obnoxious cheering. Benoit sticks his tongue out at all of them, and pulls Richard against him tighter, ruffling his hair. 

That night, as Benoit settles down to sleep beside him, Richard thinks of that scene, and can’t help but smile. 

———

“Does today count as our anniversary?” Benoit asks, popping a strawberry in his mouth. Richard looks up from his newspaper, raising an eyebrow. They’re back in the lounge at Paris, a year after everything that’s happened. Benoit’s riding the wave of an exceptionally good season, into the quarters and scheduled to qualify if he wins the tournament, something that weighs at the back of both their minds. 

“I guess it does.” Richard muses, leaning against Benoit. “Have you any plans? You’re playing the semis tomorrow, though.”

“Yeah,” Benoit grins, “I’m gonna win the whole thing, just for you. As your anniversary gift, of course.”

Richard rolls his eyes at him, and throws a small strawberry that Benoit deftly catches in his mouth. 

———

Coric serves, straight to Benoit’s backhand, and he hits it clean down the line, no chance for Coric to react. He falls onto the ground, hands over his face as the stadium erupts in cheers around him. 

The handshake with Coric and the umpire all seem like a blur, and then suddenly Benoit’s in front of his box, and JC’s hugging him, shouting happily into his ear. All he’s got eyes for, though, is Richard, standing their with a hand over his mouth, still shocked at what had just happened. Benoit lets go of JC, and advances, pulling Richard into a crushing hug.

“Happy anniversary, babe.” He says, and then Richard’s crying, laughing helplessly as his arms finally wrap around Benoit. He starts crying too, pulling back and staring at Richard, a helpless smile tugging at his lips. 

“Happy anniversary to you too, champion.” Richard says, tears still leaking out of the corner of his eyes, and leans forward, plants a kiss squarely on his mouth in front of the entire Bercy crowd. 

——

“I’d like to thank my coach, JC, and my parents and sponsors, but most importantly, I’d like to wish a happy anniversary to my boyfriend, Richard. We’ve been together for a year now, and I just want to say I love you, a lot, and thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I love you.” Benoit says, and then lifts up the trophy as champagne and confetti erupts and everyone starts cheering around him. He’s only got eyes for Richard, who’s smiling so wide his cheeks must hurt. 

I love you, Benoit mouths to him, through all the noise and colours.

I love you too, Richard mouths back. They stand and look at each other, a quiet bubble in the midst of the busy celebration.

Things aren’t always okay, Richard thinks, feeling happy tears stream down his face, but they will be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies the ending was so rushed!!! i had no idea how to wrap this up, sorry D:
> 
> well, the last time i finished a multi-chapter fic was 2011, so it’s certainly been quite a wild ride. ^^; hopefully it hasn’t been the worst! thank you to all who commented, left kudos, and subscribed along the way :) love u all from benoit, reeshard, and milou <3


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